King of the dung heap

Some women covet a day at the spa, a candlelit dinner, and jewelry that shimmers and sparkles on their neck.

I love a day in the barnyard, two shovels, and manure that sifts and crumbles in my hands.

I now pronounce you king of the dung heap

Farmer Bruce, who supplies us with gallons of cream-on-top milk, has offered up his lovely manure heap; I guess you could say we’re getting both ends of the cow now.

I can barely begin a new planting season until each garden bed has a fresh layer of manure.

We’ve picked rocks out of black, ultra-composted cow manure from the historic Fort Lewis Indian boarding school site. We’ve held our noses in the supremely stinky rabbit caverns of a spunky octogenarian who goes by “grandma.” We’ve sadly watched the health of our “goat lady” deteriorate while feisty new kids are born to her ewes each spring. And once, back in the early days, so hungry for manure, we drove–truck loaded with shovels and buckets–to the rural outskirts of town, and–ye gads!–knocked on the first door whose homestead sported a cow lazing about.

Because we know that this:

begets this:

Col helped us shovel until Bruce’s grandson came home from the hills behind their house with the lizard he just caught. And a friendship as passionate and fleeting as a summer-camp romance bloomed and withered while Dan and I loaded eight 50-gallon garbage cans with cow poop.

Rose opted to stay in the truck, singing to herself and misplacing her crocs. I’m thinking she would have preferred a spa day and some sparkly jewelry topped off by a candlelit dinner. We’ll indoctrinate you yet Rose Raven.

Here’s our system, tried and true for twelve years:

Load those suckers up

and squeeze 'em in the truck bed

Be sure to thank the cows (a different trip - we love this stuff!)

Once home, Dan puts the heavy buckets on Col’s scooter and shuttles them around to our backyard (ingenious development since our wheelbarrow has a flat).

Then, timmmbbbberrrr…

Overheard on the way home from a manure date:

Me: Thanks for helping me get manure to the garden.

Dan: I love shoveling shit with you.

Hallelujah! Can you hear the garden angels singing?

*So. I’m just a teensy bit embarrassed that I just posted TEN pictures of our manure run. Maybe this is where you realize this is not the “Mommy blog” where I discuss decorative fingernail appliques or how to sneak spinach into your kids’ cupcakes. But if you’re still here, you’ve probably gathered that. Thank you for being here.

I may be crazy too. But, the smell of cow manure is like heaven. I grew up smelling the smell and it’s very comforting! We have a horse manure pile a block down the street that we scavenge. My husband talked to the owners who were so thrilled that we’re loving it! Jonathan and the kids go for a “manure run” with their wheelbarrows. He likes it for the exercise and how the manure has changed our desert soil into something that can grow veggies! So, we have something else in common Rachel!

Because we’re in the heart of the urban jungle, I am trying to mindfully raise my toddler to not lose sight of the world beyond the concrete around us, and that’s why I come to your site. It provides me with the inspiration to keep her, us, grounded. Shoveling shit may be a little outside of our realm here but roadkill – albeit smaller ones in the size of squirrels and possums – may find its way to our table someday.

Oh, we shoveled some manure this weekend and yes I will have to agree with you it is quite exciting to think about what it will help produce! Wonderful post, I loved hearing your manure date conversation lol
Happy shoveling! : )

I love how you guys make the best of what you have available to get the job done. We do the same on our homestead. We don’t have a whole lot of tools and accessories, but we use what we do have.
Warm wishes, Tonya

I’m envious again that you have a source for not just cow milk but manure…the goats we milk once a week contribute their manure to the community garden outside their pen, and I could just spit at the sight of all that black gold–a good six inches– piled on the insanely productive beds. I’m feeling a little late for manure–what’s your take on composting it?–and so am making endless batches of compost tea instead. I’m still planning the blog garden party, but will move it towards the end of the month since I just finally decided what my contribution should be about. Send me a link when you’re ready, and I’ll post a reminder soon.

Kyce, It’s not too late for manure as long as it has sat for a year composting – I transplant greenhouse babies right into composted goat manure. And compost tea is probably fabulous, I just personally find I can’t start planting until the truckbed of poop is heaved onto the beds. Must be a genetically coded superstition from my old world ancestors. —– Original Message —–

you always make me laugh. that is why (one reason) i love to read your blog. your day and photos and even that snippet of a conversation reminds me of my husband and i. after our first son was born our first *date* was butchering our chickens together and we were so happy to have time together we didn’t care what we were doing:) ahhh…the good life! be well. xo, pennie

Well, you’ve probably intuited by now that I am the kind of girl who digs an occasionaly day at the spa (candlelight and jewelry I can do without, not to mention decorative fingernail appliques), but I do envy you your garden – not to mention your ingenuity in the use of kids’ vehicles. Love the photo of Dan navigating the can of manure on Col’s scooter. Pure awesome.

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